


The Language of Energon

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: Prowl is a vampire who is doing the most magnificent job of hiding it.My submission for the homemade zine!Second chapter will be the original version - it was far, far too long for the zine so I had to rewrite it.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61
Collections: HOMEMADE: A Transformers AU Zine





	The Language of Energon

Prowl absently flicked his teeth as he observed himself in the mirror.

Hmm. They were looking rather long again, weren’t they? Being on Earth truly messed with his feeding schedule – it was only a month ago that he’d last fed, and yet here he was, gearing up to hunt again. It was much simpler on Cybertron – he could easily breeze through three months before the urge began to tickle at the back of his throat.

How very, very inconsiderate of his fangs. He’d have to go and visit Ratchet.

The hallways were blessedly empty, and the medical bay emptier still. He could hear Ratchet in his office, as he usually was, and First Aid was busying himself readying a medical berth and setting up equipment.

“Good afternoon, sir!” He greeted the moment he noticed him. “Do you need anything?” He politely asked.

“No, thank you.” He gently raised a hand. “I am simply looking for Ratchet, I had something I wished to discuss with him.”

“He’s in his office.” First Aid pointed. “It may be best to knock.”

Prowl thanked him and turned towards Ratchets Office. He briskly knocked, Ratchet calling for him to enter a second later.

“You’re early.” Ratchet offhandedly commented as he rapidly typed on his terminal, keys clicking under his digits. He glanced up at him. “Did something happen?”

Prowl sighed as he sank down into a chair. “Nothing in particular.”

Ratchet hummed. “Just a moment, then. I’ll go and get you a bag.”

“Spark type?” Prowl hopefully asked, doorwings raising upwards with an optimistic flutter.

“Your tastes are too expensive.” Ratchet’s face scrunched. “Fortran for you.”

“Fortran?!” Prowl looked absolutely wounded, hand flying to his chest in despair. “ _Fortran_?!”

“Be grateful I’m even feeding you.” Ratchet huffed, pushing himself to stand with a grunt and leaving his office.

Prowl sulked as he waited, tapping his pede. It was horrifically out of character, and he knew the moment he was stated and fed he would be mortified and would write a letter of his most sincere apologies; but right now? He didn’t exactly have the processing power to care.

Ratchet returned moments later and shoved a cool plastic bag into his hands. Prowl frowned at it, sighing heavily.

“Suck it up, Prowl.” Ratchet scolded as he flicked his audial. “You’re so fussy. It’s only a bit of _Fortran_ , it’s not going to hurt you.”

Prowl grumbled as he chewed the bag open and began to drink. “This wont satisfy me for as long.” He whined. He was always such a spoiled little child when he was hungry.

“It’ll have to see you through until I can get hold of more Spark.” Ratchet warned. “If I have to, I will put you onto medical leave so you’ll be left well enough alone. I don’t want you… multiplying. One vampire on my base is plenty.”

“That’s… not how it works, but understood.”

“Good!” Ratchet opened his mouth as if to continue, when the doors to the medical bay flew open and First Aid staggered in, supporting a heavily bleeding Jazz. Prowls doorwings audibly clunked as they shot upwards, almost whacking the back of his helm, Prowl staring intently at the scene with wide, bright optics.

Ratchet looked between the two and made a split second decision. Swiftly striding forwards and clearing the length of the room in three large steps, he slammed the door to his office.

“Smooooth.” Prowl mumbled around the plastic of the bag of energon. He was still staring at the door with a laser focus, and Ratchet held no illusions of Prowl being entirely with it. After all, he’d just squeezed the bag hard enough to spatter its contents all over himself, the desk, and, most impressively, the ceiling.

“Don’t.” Ratchet pointed a threatening finger at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Believe me, I am trying.” Prowl sighed, rubbing at his aching jaw. “I’d rather not attack my friend.” Brief warnings were flashing across his HUD faster than he could dismiss them.

Prowls doorwings flicked at the sounds of the commotion outside. Given that Jazz was back, he assumed that he’d returned from his mission. And by the sounds of things, not everyone had made it back in one piece.

First Aid threw the door to the office open, brightly glowing energon spattered all over his frame, and shared a silent look with Ratchet.

Prowls engine audibly screamed as he gripped onto the arms of his chair, hands twitching as if unsure of what to do.

“Is he okay?” First Aid whispered to Ratchet.

“He will be when we close the door. All this fresh energon is getting to be a bit much for him.” Ratchet softly explained, swiftly exiting his office and closing the door.

Prowl whined in the chair, curling in on himself. _This was the worst._

* * *

Prowl was a fully grown, adult Praxian mech. He had lived through the fall of Praxus, he had survived four million years of war, and he had looked down the barrel of Megatrons fusion cannon and lived.

And he had bitten through his own hand.

Left to his own devices, very much alone in Ratchets Office whilst an absolute buffet sat waiting outside, he did the only thing he could think of to take the edge off enough for him to absolutely leg it when the opportunity arose: bite himself.

Hindsight told him that it was probably a terrible idea, and that Ratchet was going to be oh so very cross with him, but hindsight has the rather unfortunate habit of being far too late.

He counted. He took the random jar full of styluses and erasable pens on Ratchets desk, cast its contents to the floor, and counted. Over and over. He’d neatly place the pens back before upending the jar again, just for something to do. Any distraction. _Anything_.

When the pain subsisted to a gentle sting, and upon tactile investigation his teeth were relatively straight and far less pointy, and his HUD had stopping pinging him with warnings once every second, Prowl stood, stretched, brushed himself off, and mentally braced himself.

He was going to have to make a run for it.

The door to the office quietly opened, and Prowl peered around. So far, so good. He gently closed the door behind him, and resolve strengthened, he began to make a beeline for the exit.

Just his luck he decided to glance up towards where the medical berths were.

There was a small puddle of energon on the floor, and Prowl felt his jaw ache. His optics followed the trail of energon that followed it, up towards a berth where a very put-out Jazz currently lay, visor dim, and shoulder still steadily dripping.

_Oh, no._

“Heya, Prowler!” Jazz called, lazily waving. Prowl silently stared at him with bright optics and doorwings raised high before turning around and sprinting out of the medbay.

Jazz made a confused noise as he watched Prowl take one look at him and run away. His hand slowly flopped back down onto the berth and he sagged down into the plush mattress.

“What’s up with him?” He asked. First Aid glanced up from where he was working on Jazz’s thigh.

“He had something he needed to deal with.” He easily replied.

Jazz seemed happy enough to accept it, sinking back down into the berth and offlining his visor.

* * *

Jazz sighed with happiness as he stretched, his joints popping and cracking. That battle had been hard on them all, many of them winding up in medbay or on temporary bed rest to sleep off the damage and let their self repair handle it. Jazz himself had been one of the unfortunates in the medical bay, stuffed full of needles and sensors.

Ratchet had given him very explicit instructions: Be gentle to yourself. And, as such, Jazz had decided that he was going to use it as simple guidance only and engage in some very light yoga outside instead.

It was summer, and the sun was aggressive as it bore down on them.

Prowl was seen less and less, retreating down into the darker, cooler areas of the base. It was only in the summer that one realised that Prowl’s office was situated in such a way that he didn’t actually have a window, like the other Officer’s offices. When asked, he simply shrugged and said something about distractions.

Jazz was starting to get a feeling that it wasn’t quite that.

He’d noticed this when they were still on Cybertron. Their seasonal cycles weren’t quite the same to the ones on Earth, and it varied by citystate, no matter where they were physically located on the planet. In Praxus, they had two seasons; the monsoon season, and the rainy season. It was almost constantly raining there, and if it wasn’t raining, it was almost blisteringly hot. It was what made the crystals grow so well, and it also meant that the mechs who lived there were extremely good at handling the heat, but they seemed to shy away from bright lights. Even Bluestreak and Smokescreen shied away from bright sunlight! But they were still more than happy to sit by windows, and to bask in its glow. Pit, even today with the sun at its highest, the two of them were happily outside, albeit in the shade. But Prowl? He was being an extremely grumpy mech, secluding himself away into his office, most likely in the dark.

Jazz was worried that he was really going to damage his optics.

“I wonder why Prowl doesn’t come out and join us.” Jazz sighed, Mirage sprawled out next to him as he basked in the sun, much in the same fashion as they’d seen humans lounging on the beach, and Hound next to him, carefully observing a cactus that he held in his hands.

“No, he’s far, far too grumpy to be around right now. He’d likely scold us just for breathing.” Mirage scoffed. “I for one am glad that he is not here. I’d like to be able to relax right now.”

“He always gets so moody in the summer.” Jazz huffed, leaning into his stretch. “He was like this on Cybertron too.”

“It’s probably the heat wrecking havoc on his systems.” Hound replied.  
“He’s from _Praxus_ , that doesn’t make any sense!”  
“It’s more dry here. It must be uncomfortable on his wings.”

“Iacon was pretty wet too.” Jazz pointed out.

Hound just shrugged. “There must be something here that his body can’t cope with very well. Ratchet might know, if you’re trying to think of ways to lure Prowl outside.” he gave Jazz a knowing look.

“Hey mech,” Jazz held both of his hands up, “You know as well as I do that Prowler needs to chill out a little.”

“A nice playdate outside in the sunshine will help him relax immensely.” Mirage unshuttered an optic to look at Jazz. “I am sure he will appreciate the thought, at least.”

“I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

Mirage shrugged and settled back down again. “If I were you, I’d just try something inside. You know what Praxians are like with bright lights. If our wonderful Prowl seems to not like the summer sunshine, then it’s apparent it may be a tad too bright for him.”

Jazz tapped his bottom lip, deep in thought. What could he do?

* * *

His pedes tapped a happy tune as he skipped down to Prowls office, two cubes of energon in one hand and a boardgame tucked under his arm.

He’d spent a lot of time thinking on what he could do for Prowl – he had seemed extremely on edge as of late, and Jazz didn’t like to see his friend like that. Some friendly banter and a nice, relaxing game was certain to help.

Rapping on the door, he entered without waiting for Prowl to respond. His grin slid off his face, and his cheerful greeting fell silent on his lips when he saw the mech behind the desk.

“Uhh… Prowler?” Jazz nervously asked.

Prowl’s optics were a bright purple, the mechs doorwings high on his back and twitching. In his heavily bandaged hands, he clutched a squishy bag of energon and quietly drank from it with a straw whilst fixing him with an intense look.

He loudly swallowed, smoothly removing his straw from his mouth. “Jazz.”

“I-is that transfusion grade energon?” Jazz asked, his pede still firmly blocking the door from closing.

“Python type.” Prowl agreed.

“But- wait-” Jazz frowned, cocking his head from side to side. Prowl could hear the gears in his head turning, and he resumed his meal. Jazz hastily shoved the cubes onto a nearby shelf and stuffed the board game between his legs, holding it between his knees as he counted on his fingers, silently mouthing words to himself. It was vastly entertaining to watch.

“No. No way.” Jazz looked between Prowl and his fingers, as if he’d magically snap out of whatever dream was making him see his friend drinking Python type energon. “You’re _not_.”

“Not what?” Prowl prompted.

“I don’t want to say it aloud. It will make it real.”

“It already is real.” Prowl leaned forwards, smiling in such a way that flashed his teeth. “Whether or not you vocalise it doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re insufferable.” Jazz huffed. He glanced back, through the gap in the door, and shifted, letting it close. “How long?”

“A long time.” Prowl inclined his helm. “Perhaps longer than you think.”

“You’ve been a vampire this whole time?!” Jazz exclaimed, pointing dramatically, all previous reservations falling away in the face of indignity. “I have been bringing you energon _every single cycle_ for _vorns_! And this whole time, _this whole time_ , you didn’t once think to tell me?!”

“It got awkward!” Prowl protested. “How can you possibly tell someone who has been bringing you energon for groons that you actually cannot consume it?!”

“You did!” Jazz protested. “Those first few times – you did!”

“I was being polite!”

Jazz made a distressed noise, face falling into his hands. Prowl quickly squeezed the rest of the energon out of the bag and awkwardly stood, unsure of what to do.

His optics sunk down to the board game.

“How about we discuss it over the game you brought?” Prowl suggested. Jazz glanced up at him, and then back at the game.

“Sounds good.” He eventually replied.

There was a _lot_ of explaining he was owed.


End file.
